I Daresay, Party!
by Minty-Nutmeg
Summary: A party hosted by Hawke? Intriguing...and alarming. The effervescent mage is happy to involve the reluctant Anders, as well as try to convince him that he can have fun, too - if he ditches arsey Ser Vengeance, that is. AndersxFem!Hawke two-shot of fun!
1. Invitation To Fun

_Guys, just to let you know that I have other fics planned for DA2 (not all humour, some dramas), and I've decided that I'll post them if people tell me it's worth my time. :) So, if you want more stories, please review - also, if you have a request, put it into your review. Thanks! :D_

_DISCLAIMER: As we are all aware, I do not own Bioware. However, if I did, MWAHAHA. I would create golden statues of Alistair, Anders, Fenris, Zev, Varr, EVERYBODY! All for my amusement. Fuuuuun times! XD_

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><p>Head whipping up, Anders felt his eyes widen in surprise.<p>

"What?"

Nonchalantly shaking a splattering of blood away from her sleeves, Hawke replied simply, "I thought it'd be nice, is all. Don't you?" Her nose scrunched up in disgust for a moment as a stray splash of gore whipped up into her mouth, and she spat it out immediately, groaning loudly before adding, "We don't really celebrate much. There's always something to do – last time someone had a birthday or anything like that, Aveline, I think it was her's, well, we had to go kill that dragon, didn't we? _Bit_ of a bother. Nothing to do this time, so let's take advantage of it, eh?"

Wiping her mouth with her hastily cleaned hands, she smiled widely at him, "Ok? In two days, at the Hanged Man. Ten O'clock. Bring a present." With that, she wandered off to go and help Merrill, who was shouting for her help after tripping over and getting her head stuck in an exposed tree stump.

He continued to watch her absentmindedly as she pulled hard on Merrill for a few minutes, before giving up and finally pulling out her staff to explode the offending trunk. The young elf's hasty complaints to this spontaneous, monstrous idea were placated when Hawke explained easily that if it transpired that her head exploded as well, she would, '_Fix it with some bandages or something_.' Ignoring the alarming sound which began to emanate from Hawke's colourfully painted and decorated oak staff, along with the unmistakable stench of burnt hair and Merrill's confused, mumbled inquiries as to why it was so hot, Anders sat on another collapsed tree nearby to the neatly stacked walking corpses that they had just '_re-murdered_', as Hawke put it, pondering to himself in silence.

With a quietness that no longer surprised Anders, Varric appeared next to him, grinning as always, and sat, tenderly cleaning his beloved crossbow, Bianca, of any mess. Seeing the almost psychotic amount of care Varric smothered the weapon with, Anders recalled, with nausea, a night at the Hanged Man which had very nearly almost resulted in Hawke betrothing Varric to his crossbow, drunkenly toppling off the table she had stood on as he entered, inquiring jollily, '_Do you want me to marry you to Bianca too, Anders?' _

Anders went through all of the birthdays of every member of their group – even Dogmeat the Marbari, as Hawke always made certain everyone gave her adored pet a present annually – and quickly found that there was no birthday to be celebrated in two days time. The closest birthday they had was in three months from now, for Fenris – in what was assured to be a rather depressing venture, if previous years were anything to go by, with plenty of deprication from Hawke in some _rather _misguided, heavily drunken attempt to cheer him up and get him to have fun, '"_Ooh, I was a slave, oh, no, so sad, can't have a birthday now, happiness makes me want to slit my wrists, ahhh, boo hoo hoo hoo…_" Get a haircut, Fenris.'

He briefly considered the thought of one of the old Ferelden traditional holidays, then realised that Hawke was not one to dwell on the past, preferring to adopt the new Marcher traditions, and only celebrated the big holidays like Feast Day (for the presents, of course). Hence, exhausting all of his considerations, he was stumped.

_Not as much as Merrill was, though_.

Beside him, Varric spoke up, finally putting Bianca away with a heavy air of reluctance and one last long, painfully enamoured look, "What's up, Blondie?"

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Anders replied, "Hey, Varric, you're good at remembering things, right?"

Varric's eyebrow rose, as he answered in a supremely patronizing fashion, "I'm _alright _at it, Blondie, yes. Have you forgotten something?"

"What's happening in two days from now?"

"Hawke's party."

"She told you she was throwing one already? ...When did she do that? She only just told me."

"She told me last night, when she was losing to me at Diamondback in her mansion. Had to give me her just-bought Orlesian sweet cake in exchange for my winnings. Told me it was gonna be in the Hanged Man, ten O'clock sharp – and to bring two presents."

"_Two? _She only told me to bring one."

"What?" Varric frowned, looking over at the lady in question as she desperately fanned at her friend's smoking head, reassuring her that, '_No, everything's fine, hon', really, someone's just having a barbeque downstream or something'. _After a pause, he continued, "Huh. Never known Feather to disregard an extra free present." He flung a scrutinising look at Anders before continuing, "She must _really_ like you, Blondie."

Rolling his eyes, Anders pressed again, "Well, who are the presents for, exactly? Are they all for Hawke? Maker, if this is another attempt of hers to start up a 'minor-toenail-growth-day' or 'no-wrinkles-in-shirt-today-day' celebration to get more presents-"

"No, no, not this time: this year's going to be the fifth anniversary of our group being together."

This gave Anders pause for thought. He was surprised. Had it really been five years? It felt like just yesterday that the bright-eyed Hawke waltzed in unceremoniously to his Darktown medical surgery, declaring that, if just someone _happened _to have Deep Road maps, there _may just be _a slice of cake for An—_that person. Maybe. _

As if sensing what subject his thoughts were stuck on, Varric spoke up, lazily dragging his gaze over to the lady on Anders' mind, grinning at her antics, "Astounded at how long Hawke's managed to imprison us all with her iron will?"

Lifting his head up, right hand resting under his chin, making him look the perfect epitomy of concentration, Anders replied, "Maker - I can't fathom it. Five years?" He paused, "It certainly didn't feel like that long."

Smirking, Varric yawned obnoxiously, stretching his arms above his head, eyes closing as he said, "Time flies when all you do is stare at Hawke's arse, huh?"

"_Heyyyyy-!"_

Anders' indignant but somewhat guilty cry was suddenly overpowered and silenced by an abrupt yelp of pain, and both he and Varric looked over with more than a hint of dread to where the two women were.

Merrill was now free of the much despised tree trunk, but, unfortunately (but not entirely unexpectedly), sporting a newly flaming head of hair. The screeching elf ran off into the woods – not the best idea, really, Anders thought to himself, as roaring fires from the depths of hell and dry leaves do not _usually_ sum up in happiness – in the vague, panicked direction of the nearest river to dip her head in before it melted like Hawke's attempts at baking soufflé with her mother, closely followed by the lady in question, who shouted cries of '_It's really not __that__ bad, really - not completely, __somewhat__, some conditioner and you'll be right as rai- Maybe I should summon rain?'_

Sighing, Anders stood, slowly trailing after the stark trail of smoke leading into the trees, shadowed by Varric, whose loud chuckles rumbled through the clearing.

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><p><em>How'd you like it? :) Feel free to leave a note on your thoughts. :D<em>

_P.S. Varric has nicknames for everyone (my favourite being 'Broody' for Fenris XD), so I assumed for his most favourite peep, he would have one sorted quickly - hence, he sometimes calls Hawke by her nickname of 'Feather'. Do you...do you get it? Feather? As in...as in...Hawke? Like...like her name?...I AM A COMEDIC GEH-NEH-ASS. Hehe, 'ass'. :D_

_Review! :3_


	2. Party!

_Hey guys, here's the HUGE final chap! Woooo! XD _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Although I pray to ze gaming gods that I could, I do not own any part of Dragon Age 2 or the series in the slightest. Bioware does, not me, unfortunately ;_; But, I love those guys, so it's kewl :L_

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><p>Standing outside of the Hanged Man, wrapped present in hand, with Hawke's cacophonous howls piercing the quiet night of Lowtown, Anders sighed.<p>

For the past few days, Hawke was constantly running around after other peoples' quests, helping all who asked of her, as usual, with a witty remark always at the ready. Although normally this would be a good thing, she was so busy that she didn't once stop to think about actually organising the party she declared she would be holding. She didn't even book the Hanged Man – she had woke up that day, remembered that she was supposed to be hosting a party, and wandered over to the pub to ask – nay, _tell - _the owner that she would be using it that night. Since it was such short notice, he refused. A quick shot of '_persuasion_' (read: enchantment of nearby spoon to stir tea automatically – a fantastically stupid utilisation of magic that somehow awed the bartender into giving her a large discount) from Hawke soon set everything as it should have been.

Following that, from what Varric had relayed to him after following the woman around for a few hours, bored without her, she strolled off to the Lowtown markets to find some dubious, cheap food despite her large fortune. Now, judging by the increasingly thunderous screams of delight clearly originating from Hawke's extraordinarily deafening vocal chords, she was rared up and going in for the kill. _The party kill, _specifically.

Dismayed thoughts running through his head, Anders reluctantly reached out and twisted the door handle open.

Immediately, the volume of Hawke's shouts grew thrice in might, and Isabela's shrieks of delight peaked to match hers, ringing out into the street. Anders walked in and closed the door behind him, looking forward with some trepidation to be met with the not altogether unexpected sight of Hawke and Isabela drunkenly prancing on top of two tables, singing raunchy sailor tunes off-key all the while. Isabela was clearly not the best influence on the already rather uninhibitted Hawke. The bandana-donning pirate provided the bass beat to a song she has evidently taught Hawke some time ago, as the inebriated leader of their ragtag group meandered around, waggling her volumptuous behind and throwing her scrawny mage arms high in the air as she yelled,

'_There once was a lad_

_Whose name was Gonad_

_With questionable taste_

_Once humped the maste_

_He bedded a lot_

_Even those of the trot_

_Oh, he could flank_

_When he didn't wa-'_

Anders slammed the door loudly, and Hawke toppled. Falling over onto the conveniently placed Fenris, she let out a greeting, ignoring the shocked protests of the elf, flailing her arms, "Anders! Hey!"

Walking over to the front table by the door, where a large pile of wrapped boxes lay, Anders laid his own down, looking around. It seemed that Hawke had only invited those of their group for their gathering: a somewhat intimate affair. With some effort, Hawke eventually managed to wriggle free of Fenris's iron-wrought grip, as he apparently had the sudden urge to hug the woman as tightly as he could (_Probably due to his repressed happiness and his __incredible__ love for me, _Hawke would say), and walked over, waving despite the fact that he was no more than a foot away from her.

Smiling triumphantly, Hawke picked up a nearby tankard of ale and shoved it in his hands, saying, "Knew you'd come. Varric said you would probably leave it cause of arsey Ser Vengeance, but I told him otherwise."

Placing down the tankard on the table nearest him, Hawke's bright eyes sharpening in disapproval at the move, he exhaled slowly, "Hawke, I've told you before, _Justice_ is a part of me now, so you've got to stop referring to him as an arse."

"_No_; he's the arse, not you. Can't stick him. He has such a _punchable_ state of mind."

"You can't _punch_ a mind, Hawke, and I told you already, he's _me_, so-"

"_ShutupVengeanceyou'reanarseandIhateyouprofusely." _She grinned at him before walking away, calling behind her, "Got rid of him for you, there."

Hesitating for a moment, Anders muttered, "That wasn't even him."

Sullen, he walked forward slowly to where Hawke now climbed back atop the table she had previously been occupying, and resumed her dance. Instead of continuing her song, however, she spoke to the group, not bothering to stop her wiggles. Clearing her throat, she shouted at the top of her powerful lungs, "Anders is here (_sans arsey Vengeance_), everybody! _Let the fun begin!"_

And, with that, her song was finally recommenced, leaving Anders situated uncomfortably close to the glaring Fenris. Eyes narrowed in distate, Fenris mumbled some choice words about 'blasted abominations' before stomping off to sit in a corner near the bar, flinging drinks down his gullet and trying to be as discreet as possible in his close study of Hawke. As the brazen lyrics continued, getting progressively more graphic, it became apparent that Hawke, being the woman she was, had forgotten part of the song, or was simply adding onto the end of it, desperately trying to stitch lines and words together in a rushed patchwork, yelling every other line something that was the equivalent of: "_Sod! Varric! VARRIC! WHAT ELSE RHYMES WITH 'ORANGE' AND 'PUCK'? …HURRY!" _

After a while of listening to the depravity surrounding him, Anders began to block it out, and it became nothing more than a bunch of white noise. Varric remained happily at the table where Hawke floundered inelegantly beside the amused Isabela, shouting supplements he wished to add to the tune – or _appendages, _Isabela would correct, in keeping with the spirit of the rowdy song – warm eyes dancing in time with his best friend. It seemed to Anders, sometimes, that everyone who surrounded Hawke was inevitably drawn into her, and always ended up falling in love with her, as even the dwarf forever appeared to have an extra hint of affection heat his gaze whenever he set his eyes upon her.

Anders did not blame him, however, or the rest, as he was enraptured with her as well. Despite the rather good attempt she was currently making to prove otherwise, Hawke was a good woman, nurturing a strong instinct to help and protect, with a selfless impulse that was second to none other's. Oftentimes she put herself in harm's way for the sake of strangers, chucked into dungeons, pits or the mouths of dragons (she never hesitated to tell _that _story with Varric), always popping right back up again straight afterward, having somehow saved herself and her friends from certain death without much effort at all, proclaiming how very much she wished for a nap and some cake from that bakery down the street that she liked.

Abruptly, Sebastian's voice joined Hawke's, as she grabbed him and attempted to pull him up on her 'stage', shouting all the while at his severe reluctance, before she gave up and simply jumped onto his back, instructing him to walk her to the bar. Surprisingly, he agreed. As he resignedly strode over to the front of the barman, Hawke began to shout orders for drinks, inquiring whether Sebastian would care for ale or for '_the purple stuff_' that she intensely despised. He replied bluntly, eyes filled with temptation, "You know I don't drink, Hawke."

She waved away his words, grabbing as many drinks as she could in her hands, spilling some liquid on his head by mistake as she did, "Well, you can tonight. That's an order. Too bad. I'm leader." She interrupted his further complaints by falling off his back, pushing a tankard into his hands, filled with something she hurriedly described as having the taste of, "the concentrated piss of a thousand Marbari suffering from urinal tract infections. But good for getting drunk.'

Turning away from the prince/priest, she looked to Varric, splattering ale on the floor as she stumbled forward slightly from the forward momentum of having jumped off of Sebastian, and asked, "Will you be putting this party into your stories about me, Varr?"

As always when faced with this question she posed to him whenever she did something monumentally stupid or embarressing, Varric replied, "No, Feather, I won't," he grinned, "if you just beat me at a game of Wicked Grace."

"Deal!"

She staggered over to the dwarf, handing him his ale as he began to set out the playing cards he always carried with him, placing them on top of the table Isabela had just vacated in favour of teasing poor Merrill. As the game started up, everybody wandered over to have a look and see what would happen with the entertaining pair. A circle was formed around the two players, with the girls gathering by the shoulders of the inebriated mage, and the boys looking over Varric's hand. Even Anders walked over to them, smiling at Hawke's antics in spite of Vengeance's niggling disapproval at the back of his mind, quashing the sharp condemnation echoing in his head, giving in to the cheer of the evening.

Hawke, unfortuately, was notorious in their group for having next to no idea how to play Wicked Grace. She excelled at Diamondback, the fast-paced, high-risk and gain game where plenty happened each round, but Wicked Grace was a slow, thought-out activity with plenty of scheming – which suited rogues like Varric just fine. Being the artless mage she was, Hawke didn't like it in the slightest, but agreed to play whenever Varric or Isabela challenged her due to some bizarre code of honour pertaining to losing all of the money contained in her pockets to her dextruous and wily friends.

Within an hour (it really was a _long_ game, despite Hawke's lack of any skill), Hawke had predictably lost, even with Isabela constantly at her ear, whispering instructions and slipping her cards (whenever the pirate stuck an extra in her hand, she would immediately pick it up and drunkenly question how it had suddenly apparated there). Nevertheless, she was quite happy. She asked Varric for another game afterwards, and he agreed, laughing, "Sure, Feather, anything for you."

"_Daww_, I love you, Varric!" Hawke grinned happily.

"Yes, I'm too good to you, Hawke," he smiled warmly, and finished shuffling the cards, adding deviously, "let's make it a bit more interesting this time, eh?"

She perked up significantly from her already good cheer, whispering excitedly, "_Ooh_... a bet?"

"Uh huh."

She nodded, smirking in a frighteningly similar fashion to Varric when he had just discovered (or created) another bit of gossip surrounding one of their group, "I like it."

"Good," he placed the cards out before continuing, "So, what do you want to bet, Feather?"

"Anything?"

"Anything at all."

"Oh. Good. I _like_ it." She dwelled carefully, then answered, "Ok." Pausing, she smirked, "If I win, I want you to streak across Hightown."

There was a silence. Then, inevitably, everyone burst into thunderous guffaws of laughter, Hawke sitting in the middle of it, grinning proudly. Once the hilarity died down a little, Varric replied, unsurprisingly, considering that he would _always _win, "Alright, Hawke, you've got it. But, I'll only do it if you agree that, if I win, you do the same."

Doubled in force and volume, the laughter started again. The men of the group became flushed as they saw Hawke enthusiastically nod, exclaiming, "You've got a sodding deal, Varr!" The pair shook hands energetically.

Aveline and Donnic sighed, knowing that they would likely have to take Hawke in (as they all knew it would be Hawke that was left to the task) the very next day for streaking, booking her and filing yet more paperwork in her already pretty bursting file of offences against the city and its moderately offended/intrigued people. Merrill seemed to have no idea what was going on, happily stating that 'streaking' sounded like a rather fun activity to partake in, and inquired as to whether or not it included paint – the answer being a quick, resounding '_no_' from Aveline.

Anders, Sebastian and Fenris all shifted, glancing at Hawke, guiltily hoping in their gut that the mage before them would not suddenly experience an unforseen spurt of luck. Isabela barked loudly with laughter, commenting, "I'm quite ecstatic either way: I get to see Varric's uninhibited chest hair flouncing in the wind, or Hawke's rounded lovelies doing the same. Both fantastic."

It was _on._

For two hours they sat there, playing silently as their friends meandered around, buying drinks every so often or quietly commenting to each other on the progress of the game. Hawke, shockingly, held her own slightly longer than usual, a fact which Varric commented on every so often, adopting the look of a proud mother, pleased at having seen his tactically-deficient friend gain enough practice that she no longer had the skill level of a mentally deficient duck foetus. However, inescapably, she still lost. When she did, though, she did not seem to grasp the magnitude of her loss, instead, standing without a fuss, and beginning to strip.

As Hawke got caught in her loosened trouser leg, Isabella whistled in the background with a chuckling Varric, and Aveline grabbed her friend, pinned her arms to her sides with her gladiator-like freakish strength, and turned her upside down over a nearby bucket of water. As the guard-captain repeatedly ducked Hawke into the small pool, the mage confusedly yelping all the while, she asked, "Sober yet?" Upon each answer of '_No, not really_', another duck was earned. This lasted about ten minutes before Hawke's steadfadt reply abruptly changed to '_Yeah, think I'm okay now, __bit__ dizzy, might vomit on your shoes_', and she was placed carefully back upright, head dripping wet like her pet Marbari which sat barking mirthfully up at her from the floor.

Spitting out an impressively long spout of water, Hawke gurgled loudly in protest, "My bet, though, Aveline-"

"-I'm not letting you, Hawke. Don't you remember last time you followed through with a bet?"

"No."

"_That's_ why I'm not letting you."

"But if I don't remember, does it _really_ matt-"

"-Yes."

"Even if-"

"-Yes."

"Even-"

"-Yes._"_

"E-"

"-Don't make me put you in a headlock."

Hawke backed off.

Turning back around to the group, along with the males who sat staring fixedly at the top two buttons of her robe which she had managed to open, Hawke raised her arms in the air and declared, "Okay, then, _toast time!_ Toast! Toast!" She glanced back at the glaring Aveline, and gave the group a meaningful look, "_Toast." _Everyone obediently raised their glass, Merrill her milk and Isabela a surprised Fenris' glass of Aggregio wine.

Clearing her throat, Hawke began to speak, words slightly less slurred than they were before she was dunked in freezing cold water continually, "So, I think most of us know why we're here tonight, right?" Everyone nodded, and she continued, "We've all been together for five years! _Five years!_" She grinned and everybody cheered, until she added in a slightly muted voice, eyes glancing to the side, "_...Approximately, I believe, I think. Maybe." _Everyone stopped cheering abruptly.

Varric spoke for the majority's thoughts, as he quoted cautiously, "'_Approximately?'_"

Hawke shifted a bit, having the decency to look at least a little ashamed and embarrassed of what she admitted, "I forgot the exact month. Might be off a little bit, not sure-" She broke off, grimacing as she said, "Sorry, really! Thought I'd look really stupid if I asked you, Varric."

Barking loudly with laughter, Varric took a drink and commented, "Yes, you don't look stupid at all, now, Hawke."

"Well...yeah." She paused, "Yeah. _Hmm._ Well. I thought it was _about _this time of year we all gathered, and I had nothing to do today anyway – I had to get new carpets put in my house today, so I couldn't go do any jobs, wasn't free 'til night, was gonna be bored, so-"

Merrill interjected, quite naively, "-You told me you had an appointment with the Grand Divine in Orlais concerning the teachings of the Maker across all of Ferelden and the Free Marches, though."

For a moment, Hawke merely stared at the elf, shocked. Then, she replied bemusedly, "I didn't think you'd actually believe me," shaking her head, she blinked rapidly, wiping her eyes in a clear attempt to wake up from what she perceived as a supremely idiotic dream, even by her standards, before adding, "I'm actually quite - I don't even - Andraste. _Andraste,_" she looked to the heavens and clasped her palms, "smite this small elf for the good of all intelligent life, please. Sebastian, how do I pray properly? I don't know how. I need to _know _now."

Swiftly, Sebastian discouraged the mage, looking over nervously to Merrill before glancing up and whispering something that was the equivalent of '_cancel that order, please, God." _

Shaking herself free of her shock, Hawke winked once more to the ceiling, smugly nodding as if in on a great secret, then said, "Yeah, so." She lifted her drink up and the rest did the same, taking a drink. After smacking her lips, she took a great gulp of air and continued half-heartedly, "Five years. Yeah." She hummed, smiling, "Now. Let's – let's get out of our faces."

And so they did. The barman was flooded with requests of drinks and Dogmeat the Marbari was thrown some steak bits as well as a bucket filled with water – although, Hawke tried to fill it with vodka for the party, swiftly stopped in her tracks by Aveline – and everyone was merry. Briefly, Anders glanced at the large table creaking under the enormous weight of presents, and he wondered whom they would be going to, since the party was for all of them, then he realised: Hawke, of course, would probably try to hide them all under her blouse and smuggle them back to her home for her own personal enjoyment.

Across the room from where the crowd gathered, Hawke struggled to scramble back up on top of her table, and sighed in satisfaction when she did. The drink-free chaperone to Hawke, Sebastian, walked over and said, "Hawke, you do realise that I didn't become part of the team until a few years after everybody else, right?"

She swivelled round to face him, eyes narrowed, a finger upon her lips as she quietly replied, "_Ssh, _darling Seb, you'll ruin the spirit of the party. I'll get you an ale."

"I don't dri-"

"-_I'll get you an ale." _

The rest of the night proceeded happily, without much incident. Despite abandoning any prospect of sobriety in favour of all-out shit-facery, Hawke pertained in mostly wholesome fun, without any propositions of strip-Diamondback or painting faces on bottoms to be had. She upheld her reputation as the resident, nonsensical, off-key singer of raunchy half-poems crafted as she lay half awake in a Hightown sewer pipe during a particularly terrible hangover. Only when she tried to go outside and look at a butterfly she just saw - which was, in fact, an Antivan dung-beetle – and she repeatedly bashed her face against the door frame in her attempts to leave despite the door lying ajar, did the party end.

It was nigh on 2 AM, and, regardless of Hawke's proficiency in combatant magic, when she could not even remember accurately the correct spelling of her own name, it was not a good idea to leave her on her own to traverse the gang-ridden streets of Lowtown in the dark. Hence, Aveline, slightly – and quite surprisingly - bleary-eyed herself, ordered the men to pick one from amongst them to escort the woman safely home.

They all jumped at the chance. Varric put himself forward, casually stating that he had had to take his friend to her manor numerous times before, and that he had no problem whatsoever helping her out again - but he was swiftly silenced by the other three, who purported that he lived right in the bar, so what would the point be in him leaving, only to have to come back? Giving them all uncomfortably knowing smirks, Varric backed off.

Fenris and Sebastian began to intensely argue, quiet enough that Hawke, who had just begun to warble again next to a clapping Merrill, would not hear them, both saying that, as they stayed in Hightown, they should obviously take her. However, neither liked or trusted the other, so did not wish for Hawke to be anywhere near them. Anders only just managed to force himself back into the stakes by stating that, although he lived in Darktown, which was inconveniently far off, he needed to stop off in Hightown to meet a contact of his in an hour, anyway : a complete lie, which unfortunately birthed a couple of comments concerning the purchase of whores from the amused Isabela (who had also suggested herself earlier, saying unabashedly that she wished to try her hand 'and other things' against Hawke - a prospect quickly shot down by the others).

Eventually, the argument became more heated to the point that it even caught the attention of the dozy Hawke, who decided that the best way to end it was to walk out and drag Anders along with her – a tactic that succeeded shockingly well in its aim.

As she strolled off, she lifted her arm up behind her and waved clumsily at Varric, saying that she would make certain to take care of their bet tomorrow: a comment thankfully missed by Aveline, who sat giggling – _giggling _should never be used in conjecture with that woman – next to a intensely romantic Donnic, who stood whispering passionate sweet nothings to her. Anders, whilst shocked that she had picked him, was nonetheless very smug of the fact, and glanced round his shoulder to give a wide grin – unusual for him to give into a display of emotion with Justice in his system, although, maybe it was that pint or two Hawke had finally managed to coerce him into drinking – at the other two, who simply glared back at him, eyes narrowed in distaste.

Walking out into the cold late night/early morning air, Anders closed the bar door behind them, and shivered. Hawke had yet to release his hand, and, giving him a smile, continued to walk up the street. They walked in silence through all of Lowtown. Instead of giving into her instinct to sing a full-blown, off-key aria as she normally did when walking back to her home drunk, Hawke instead whispered a quiet hum of a song that was hardly off-key at all – in fact, Anders could say that it was moderately adequete (a huge compliment when considering Hawke as a whole). She did not forget her whereabouts as Varric informed Anders she sometimes did when walking drunk, returning to her uncle Gamlen's old shack, attempting to knock on the door for hours when he was at the Blooming Rose frittering away his meagre amount of money on cheap whores.

By the time they reached the marketplace entrance to Kirkwall's decadent Hightown, the full moon had emerged from hiding behind a group of clouds in order to softly beam its white light across their path. Anders found it somewhat eerily beautiful to see Hightown without its usual bustle, with all of the stalls locked up and covered for the night, left by their keepers: but he was somewhat glad of the fact, as they had seen so sign of dangerous bandit gangs prawling the streets. He supposed this was down to Hawke's repeated work over the years in elimating the sinister, cutthroat bands of rogues who leapt out on people unawares at night.

Upon sight of the markets resident fountain, Hawke, with a fluidity that surprised him, considering both her clumsiness and _extreme _inebriation, ran up and swiftly removed her sandals before jumping into the small pool. Ripples spreading around her, Hawke splashed her feet around happily, cheering to herself as she loudly stomped down to send a giant funnel of water flying up. Anders smiled warmly at her as she began to prance around the circle, arms ineptly thrown above her head in an awkward impersonation of an Orlesian ballet court dancer.

When she dropped her right leg back down from her attempt at being a swan, soaking wet trouser leg sending fat droplets of water flying, she turned to him and gestured him forward, grinning. He complied. Removing his shoes on her command, he jumped in beside her, and she cried out loudly in glee.

Briefly, just before his bare foot set ground in the water, he considered why he was doing it – sheer alcohol consumption, or because Hawke simply made him take risks, and live a little? Or maybe he wanted to impress her? Maybe he wanted to just be happy with her, the person he cares for most out of anyone he had ever met. All of the above? At this point, he didn't really care, and the alcohol really _did_ set in: he enjoyed himself.

They probably ran about there for a good ten minutes together; though, it could have been as long as an hour, as short as fifteen seconds, or as mindboggling as a full day (however unlikely that may have been). Time was never that big a factor in his experience with Hawke, as evidenced by the five years that had apparently escaped him up to this point – she was like a void of compare, you couldn't say how long you had known her, because it felt like everything up to that point had been empty and worth absolutely nothing. That was true enough for Anders, as he felt that, despite his conscription in the Grey Wardens, his experience as a war hero serving alongside the Hero of Ferelden and helping to end a war, none of it had much meaning to him without her. Sure, he had had definite fun – Ser-Pounce-A-Lot being a most definitively treasured memory – and made a few friends, but he hadn't been that _happy_. She made him nothing short of joyous. Where there had been emptiness before, there was now a bright sense of fulfilment stemming solely from her influence.

Hawke laughed loudly when he picked her up from behind, enveloping her in an affectionate embrace, beaming brightly up at him when he spun her around, water soaring in a tiny whirlpool around them. Finally, they stopped, out of breath. Lifting her carefully out of the fountain, he sat her down on his lap gently as she hastily pulled her shoes on before she pushed his own pair onto his large feet for him. For a moment, he savoured the soft warmth she brought, hugging him tightly, then he set her down tenderly onto the now drenched stone pavement. Giving him another fond grin, Hawke continued on, urging him forward with her up the street towards the start of the stairs.

Craning his head up to the sky, Hawke remarked loudly, "_Lovely stars!_" She nodded in approval, "Very nice."

Anders agreed, "They're shining even brighter than usual tonight."

She nodded again, humming in appreciation. Slowing slightly, she brought her arm up before her, to point at the bright specks of light, leisurely tracing out images only she could see in her mind. Smirking impishly, she noted, "I can see a face up there, and a _rude_ thing – Isabela would be so very proud!" They both laughed. When their laughter quietened, she added, "Funny, isn't it?" She elaborated upon spotting his questioning glance, "What people think is up there: the Golden City. Wouldn't that be nice if it really was there?" He nodded until she continued, a grin on her face, "Just _imagine _the amount of money I could make pawning off the shiny stuff up there, eh?"

Scoffing, Anders commented in jest, "_Ha, _it's about right that you don't care about eternal salvation or that other stuff the Chantry talks about – you just want _pretty, shiny things _to have."

"Not _to have_, Anders, but _to sell." _

"Aren't you already rich enough, Hawke?"

She shrugged apathetically, "Eh, well, I never really cared for the money itself – it's the _acquistitioning_ of it that's the fun part for me. I might as well just hand over all my money to Varric after every job, for how much I care." Anders' eyebrows rose in uncertainty, so she continued, "It's be a cool story to tell, that's the thing I like, though. I might keep a little block of gold or two to attach to my ears – cool, I think – but it's the idea of going up there, stealing a couple of angel robes, throwing them on, and running away straight afterwards that really captures my attention, definitely."

"Wow, so you'd really risk eternal damnation of your soul, or whatever it is, just to have the ability to talk about having gone up there and ran away from an angry Maker?" He shook his head in disbelief, "Andraste's knickerweasles."

"Hehehe! Yeah! He'd be _fine_ with it."

"Last time someone went up there, they were turned into _Darkspawn_."

"_Hmm._ Maybe not, then." They were no longer wandering up the street now: they had stopped to look fully up whilst talking, likely making a rather frightening sight for some poor stranger happening by them alone in the middle of the night, with their eyes narrowed in concentration at the stars and mouths flapping open in drunken, likely barely coherent rambling. Hawke glanced at Anders as he tried to make out the only constellation he knew (_Orion's Belt_, because Varric had once told him a rude rhyme to remember it with), before inquiring, "So, do you believe in the Maker and stuff? And the whole Golden City thing, where Darkspawn came from and everything?"

This gave him pause. He looked across to her as she now continued to gaze up, and answered uncertainly, "I suppose," he hesitated, " I think so." He looked to her, trying to see what she thought, but she gave no reaction, her face neutral as she continued to gaze upwards.

Without the disappointment he'd heard before from others when he expressed his uncertainty in religion, she asked simply, "Why do you 'think' and not 'know'?"

Shifting, he replied quietly, "Sometimes I wonder," he paused, "Mages: we're hated." He stayed silent for a moment before continuing, frowning deeply, the drunken happiness fading rapidly as he pursued the serious line of thought, "We're hated because the Chantry hates us. They say they don't hate us, they just want us to be controlled for our safety," his eyes darkened, "_everyone's_ safety. But I know they do. Whenever I see a Sister of the Chantry faced with a Tranquil mage taken to assist their business outside the Gallows for a little while, I can see it on their face, how much they despise our very existence. How much they _wish_ that we hadn't ever been born."

He stopped looking at the stars. The air was heavy, slumping his shoulders, and Hawke still did not move.

He was whispering now, words birthing small curls of mist in the suddenly much more cold air, "Ever since I was a child, it's been the exact same: I've always been told how dangerous I am, and how dangerous anyone I've ever loved is. My friends were killed because they were too dangerous - because they _failed a test_, they were _murdered_. The Chantry hates us _that much_."

A wind rustled abruptly through the entirety of the abandoned street where they stood, and, soaked to the bone, Anders shivered. It was clear from the sheer strength of the gust that a storm was gathering over in the North, and would likely arrive soon, ruining everybody's expectations of a bright day next. His eyes darkened completely as he concluded, "Sometimes, despite my best efforts not to, I can't help but wonder what kind of evil bastard of a god would condemn his children like he has us."

They said nothing for a few minutes. Finally, Hawke slowly turned her head back down from the stars she was so fixated and determined to look to, to lock him in a strong, warm gaze. At last, she responded, voice firm, "You believe what you want to believe, Anders, not what everybody else tells you to. I don't care. You're always going to be the same to me, okay?"

She moved closer, "It doesn't matter to me. If the people in the Chantry think that mages are evil, that we're wrong or worthless, we're not and you're not, and I know it. If they think that a God they claim is loving and caring hates certain members of his flock, then they are definitely wrong." She paused, "Otherwise, if they _were_ right, then I wouldn't even _try_ to believe in the Maker: I would not stand him, and I would _fight_ for us. I would fight for peace, to make everyone equal and safe, _everybody." _

Putting her hands on his shoulders, she gently pulled him around to face her as she spoke, "Either way, Anders, never doubt us and our friendship. One day, soon, hopefully, mages will be free and uninhibitted, protected and treated the same as everyone else. Until then, we will do what we think is right to advance the cause." She smiled.

It seemed a earth-shattering moment for Anders, a vital, _crucial_ instant embedded in his mind, an epiphany of all he would ever believe in. The fact that she believed mages should be free – no, that they _would _be free – raised him high and sent his spirit soaring. He had always believed in the cause -but now that she agreed, he saw that, whatever he did, Hawke would be standing by him the entire time. Where, mere moments ago, he could feel the phantom essence of Justice beginning to set into his very being in his anger, there was now a blinding, narcotic warmth. He could hear her words echoing in his head, despite the fact that she had only just said them, _we will do what we think is right to advance the cause. Advance the cause. Do what we think is right. Soon._

Shaken to his core, light filling his mind, he beamed back at her. He whispered, so quiet in his awe that he was sure she could never had heard him, but she did after all, "I would _die _for you, Hawke."

She was silent for a moment, eyes bright and kind, with her merry smile still perpetually etched into her being, before she answered just as quietly as he did, "I don't want you to do that, Anders, because then everything I had ever done would have been for naught. And I would die, too - in fact, I would make certain of it." He couldn't find anything to say to that.

Eventually, Hawke took his hand and they began to walk again, approaching her house as she began to gaze upwards with him again at the fantastically gleaming stars that shined more, he thought, when she was near.

Passing gardens full of flowers and trees, birds flying overhead and insects chirping soothingly, nostalgic, gentle scents floating through the air, Hawke and Anders walked together. It wasn't long before they reached the court just outside of Hawke's house, the large town square that sat at the edge of the most important area in the whole of Kirkwall, where both the Viscount's Keep and the Chantry where situated – exceedingly appropriate for Hawke, really, as she also lay on the fringes of the integral events that shaped Kirkwall as they knew it, leading them foremost before anyone else.

Altogether too soon, they had arrived at her doorstep.

Hawke walked up the small step leading up to the large wooden door of her house, and stopped, turning to face him with a big smile spread widely across her face. It was a look Anders knew very, very well, having seen it many times in all his _five_ years spent with the inimitable force of nature that was the beautiful Hawke, and it signalled that a spark of brilliance – or what she perceived as brilliance – had suddenly passed through her mind. For a split second, Anders' instincts howled for him to run to the moon in order to get far, _far _away from Hawke, because the extremity of that 'idea' look on her face was screaming trouble to him. However, he stayed, as he found that he could not resist the pure allure of curiousity about what she would do next, as ever.

It was at times like this, with her alone with him and so very close, smiling at him as always, that he deeply regretted ever having pushed her away. When they had first met, she had flirted with him, informing him, '_You have an __extremely__ sexy, tortured look about you.' _Although instantly intrigued with her, tempted to no end, Anders had put a stop to it right there and then, telling her in no uncertain terms that, if he had met her a year ago when he was free of Justice and was not essentially an abomination in the eyes of the Circle, he would have courted her – but now, the time allowing for that had passed. If he got involved with her now, he would only end up hurting her, and he could never bring himself to do that.

Instead of giving up and distancing herself from him like he assumed she would have, she just grinned at him, giving him the same look then as she was now: that smug, unaffected beam that clearly told the world that she had a plan, and that she was tremendously confident in it. Winking at him before turning to leave, she had replied, '_We'll see about that, Anders.' _

Lately, he often wondered on that moment, about what she had been thinking and planning – whether she had yet to put that plan of seduction into action yet, and if he was just oblivious to it. Honestly, part of him, likely the only part free of Justice's permeation, hoped her plan would succeed. Frequently, he found that when he was with her, his gaze would always drift over to her without thought if left unchecked, and that he savoured every second he was in her presence. It had actually begun to alarm him, how obsessed he seemed to be with her, and how overpoweringly protective he felt of her when he saw her surrounded by foes in battle, or interested men at the bar – so, he always tried to push his emotions away, to be pondered upon when he was away from her dizzying influence. So far, he hadn't gotten rid of them, and he frankly doubted that he ever would.

Being polite, sobered a little bit by their earlier conversation, Anders asked, "Are you alright, Hawke?"

Refusing to reply immediately, she stayed hushed. After a moment, though, she said something he definitely had not expected to hear then, "Anders, one day soon, on the day that we help to free mages once and for all, I'm going to get you to admit that you love me as much as I love you."

He was silent, shocked. Shocked by her promise, and her ultimate conviction to it. He was then surprised by the kiss she suddenly pressed to his lips.

When he had stood there, noiseless in his astonishment, she had leaned forward, gently moved her still smiling mouth to his, and given him a chaste seal of tenderness. He responded after the disbelief wore off, moving his lips as lightly against hers as she had his own, determined to reciprocate her feelings without words.

Too soon, she moved slowly back again, eyes twinkling. She whispered cheerfully, grinning brightly, "Maybe it'll be sooner than I thought." With that, she took hold of the door handle, twisted, and walked inside, a faint, jolly, "Goodnight, Anders - look for me tomorrow when I'm running stark through Hightown," floating through the wind in her wake.

Anders didn't move for a while, and stood where he was, eyes remaining glued to the spot where she had been mere seconds before. The urge to run after her and sweep her into his arms, never letting go for anything or anyone, was fought just barely successfully, as he looked up at the just disappearing moon. He turned after what felt like a happy eternity, and slowly began to walk back to Darktown, sun rays starting to brightly cast everything in a new, optimistic light.

Giving one last glance filled with love back at Hawke's home, Anders turned a corner and walked forward into a bright new dawn.

* * *

><p><em>Dawww, Anders... :D Hope you all enjoyed that, guys! By the way, hope you liked the raunchy, nonsensical song at the start - made it myself ahaha! :L<em>

_Thanks for reading! As I said before, if I get a good response for this, I'll post other fics for DA2 and Origins. It might not always be AndersxFem!Hawke (that is my fav, though :3), and I might have some FenrisxFem!Hawke, SebxFem!Hawke or even VarricxFem!Hawke. :) Any requests, message me, or leave a note in your review about it. Any pairing's good, so get creative and I'll try my hardest! ^-^_

_If you have the time, feel free to review. :D_


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